


Times are Changing (And Now I, too, Must Change)

by iustuscadens



Series: Staying Close to the Ground [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Aunt-Nephew Relationship, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, coming to terms, i honestly don't know how to tag this one, i just love her okay, like a lot, lots of emotion, time lapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 12:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11760129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iustuscadens/pseuds/iustuscadens
Summary: A Mother's Love is like nothing else in the world...





	1. Then

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, fair citizens. 
> 
> Might I just say, thank you all so very much for the absolutely amazing feedback I received for the first story i posted in this series, A Different Sky. I was _not_ expecting the overwhelming, positive response that I got. I was the happiest I have been in...wow, pretty much as long as I can remember. 
> 
> So I bring you more. 
> 
> I saw Homecoming three times in the theater, and every time, I fell a little bit more in love with Marissa Tomei's Aunt May. The few scenes she had were absolute gold (despite the degrading way others treated her but we won't go in to that), but I found myself wanting so much more. 
> 
> The original intent of this fic was to be a starting point to the Staying Close to the Ground verse, a fic in Peter's POV that detailed the events that occurred directly after Aunt May saw him in the suit, centering on Peter and May's relationship. I wrote the first couple of scenes and got stuck, then spent a couple of days fighting writer's block until I had the idea of writing the last chapter in May's POV. So...I set to writing that chapter, thinking it would get me out of my rut. 
> 
> Instead, it turned into its own fic...and after I read it I decided that it felt more appropriate as a standalone than anything else I was planning to write from Peter's POV. 
> 
> One more thing...and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. 
> 
> This is in first person. I know a lot of people have problems with it. But this thing refused to be written any other way. Give it a chance! Haha!

I have been holding on to that boy for what seems like forever.

 

A lifetime.

 

Fast and steady, with an iron grip set into my fingertips, as if I let go for an instant, he might fly away.

 

~~

I tried to convince them to take him.

 

The realization hit me as I sat there, a baby boy that didn't belong to me, sitting on my lap babbling, pulling at my iron fingertips, grabbing at the ring that tied me to Ben, and thus to _this child,_ as the man in the black suit shook my husband's hand and gave us his condolences. And I thought, _I tried to convince them to take him with them._

 

_You can't keep leaving like this,_ I had yelled. _He's your child, not ours. You should be together._

 

_Now you never will be,_ I remember thinking, a mixture of anger, sorrow, and overwhelming relief flooding me all at once. They were dead. But he was alive. I wondered idly for a moment, if they knew, and that's why they had left him-, but that thought leaves me quickly. It didn't matter, not anymore.

 

Mary and Richard were dead.

 

And now this child…this child I saw on holidays, on birthdays, who I had grown to love, but from afar (the way someone who marries into a family is a part of everything, but also never fully a part of anything does)…

 

…Now this child was mine.

 

~~

 

For a while, I had a hard time dealing with it.

 

I was stuck between loving him too much, and being bitter that we had been saddled with him. No, that was not true. Overwhelmed, perhaps, but I was never angry with that little boy. I was angry with Richard. I was angry with Mary. 

 

I was angry _at_ them _for_ Peter.

 

Ben was such a better person than I. He would wrap me in my arms at night, while we stood over the crib, and he would tell me that the world works in strange ways. We didn't have power over life and death. And at night he would sit on top of the apartment building and stare up at the stars. And after an hour we would trade, and I'd go for a walk in the park to clear my head, to ask all the questions I had that I felt I could not share with him, not yet…

 

The practical questions, such as…how could we afford this? What did we know about being parents?

 

And the harder ones…what would this do to Peter? How would we explain, as he grew up? What kind of life would he lead, never having his mother and father?

 

When I finally talked to Ben about it, he told me that all Peter needed was love, and I laughed as he sang the Beatles song, wild and off-key, playing that old guitar his brother gave him. I'm pretty sure every note was wrong, but it still sounded like music to my ears.

 

~~

 

"Auntie", I told Peter, pointing to myself. "Uncle", when I pointed to Ben.

 

We spent most of our days exhausted, chasing after a kid who crawled and grabbed everything. Who knocked things off tables. Who couldn't breathe right, and so I would hover, and hover, and keep his inhaler in my back pocket at all times, listening for a wheezing sound. I stopped making him sleep in his crib and started making a pillow nest on our bed.

 

Ben had to tell me to lighten up a bit. _Just let things happen, let go a little._

 

I didn't. I wouldn't.

 

When he was at work one morning, I pointed to myself while Peter was in his high chair, hands smashing the peas I had placed on the white surface. I felt guilty. Shameful. It hadn't even been a year. But every day he felt a little more like he was mine.

 

"Mama."

 

 

~~

 

Peter loved books and it was a hoot and a half.

 

Because he didn't know how to read, and he didn't know how to turn pages without ripping half the page right off of the binding. Ben was in stitches, and not in the good way. Half the books in the apartment were held together with Scotch tape, and my husband had slowly, but surely, resigned himself to the fact that our collection was compromised.

 

So he embraced it, dumped a bunch of books in front of that kid and they were decimated within the hour.

 

We laughed and laughed and laughed.

 

Within the year Peter was reading, _reading and barely three_ , and we replaced all the books with the money we got from our neighborhood junk sale, and a trip to the Goodwill.

 

"He's smart, like his parents-" Ben had said, sighing. "Gonna go far in life, s'long as we find a way to let him grow."   
  
And I thought, watching his eyes scan the pages of a 1st-grade-level book, that Ben was right. Peter was growing up, speaking (though not too much, he was such a shy little kid), thinking, and those thoughts were bound to be beyond Ben and I one day. You knew a genius when you saw one. It was baffling, to be able to say, _yep, that one's mine_. _You know, the one who's got the look that says "I already have the world figured out, I'm just waiting for this damn body to get bigger"_? We had a responsibility to help out with that…

 

But I didn't want him to grow up _too_ fast…

 

~~

 

"Aun'May! Uncle Ben! Look look!" Peter exclaimed, pointing at the television. Ben and I stood at the back of the couch, watching the famous weapons-manufacturer-turned-green as he revealed himself to the world as Iron Man. All those stories we'd been seeing on the news…about the man in metal who had saved those villagers from their oppressors. About the battle that had taken place downtown a couple of days earlier…they were confirmed in a single sentence, and suddenly, the world was a more dangerous place.

 

"He's a _superhero_ ," Peter said with glee, staring up at the two of us. Ben took my hand and held it tightly. He must have seen it shaking.

 

"World's changing, it does all the time. We'll be fine, May," he said, smiling at me.

 

"…Not a fan of that guy-" I replied, "What's this even mean?"

 

"It means there are good guys and bad guys, like there always are, like there always have been. And life goes on," Ben said.

 

I gripped my hand tighter around Ben's as Peter darted across the room, making 'Whoosh'ing noises and pretending to fly.

 

~~

 

Peter wanted to be Iron Man when he grew up.

 

I stood at the door with my arms crossed and a frown on my face as he skipped out the door, hanging on to Ben's arm with the biggest grin on his face. He was so excited, and despite my bitterness, I couldn't help but let the frown crack a bit at the energy he had. Ben turned back and kissed me on my cheek, promising that it wouldn't be bad, it was just an expo, and that they wouldn't be out too late.

 

On the news, I watched the Iron Men go haywire, and I listened to the screams as the people ran and ducked for cover.

 

I must have called twelve different hospitals and six police stations before the door opened and the pair of them walked in. I wrapped Peter in my arms and didn't let go as he pulled the Iron Man mask off of his head and tried to jump up and down.

 

"I was with Iron Man! We blew up a _big monster_!" He yelled. I cried into his shoulder and told him, " _that's wonderful, baby. I'm so glad you're okay."_

 

Ben looked grim that night as we sat on the roof, drinking our coffee and looking out over the city.

 

"Maybe we should move," I heard myself say.

 

"Nah…it'll follow us wherever we go, May," He mumbled.

 

"Could go somewhere quiet, like the country, I'd love to have a garden-…maybe a barn in the back with a studio-" I started.

 

"This is the best place for Peter," Ben raised his hand, circling the city with his finger. "He's gonna get the best opportunities here, all these scientists, running around, trying to solve the world's big, new problems." He smiled at me, and I remember why I married him. You know, he was a steady, simple man, but he was carefree on the inside. I was the wild child, I went on hikes and danced and lived in a van for a few months, but on the inside, I worried. Maybe that's why I did all those things, growing up. I was rebelling against that worrier. But it was different when you had someone else to look after besides yourself…

 

"We're tough. We'll make it, we're New Yorkers."

 

And I took it on faith that he was right.

 

~~

 

It was amazing how unimportant everything else became when you realized someone you loved was in danger.

 

Aliens? The question I used talk with my friends about late at night when I was a teenager, sitting around some bonfire we made while passing a joint around? Who the Hell cared? They wizzed past the car, left abandoned in the street as Ben and I ran down the sidewalk, hand-in-hand, racing towards the elementary school. All that was going through my head was _Peter, Peter, Peter…my boy is in this mess, somewhere…_

 

Chunks of rock and debris were flying everywhere. A… _a thing_ jumped out in front of us, clad in armor and brandishing some glowing, purple weapon, and for a moment, I thought - _This is it -_

 

A moment later it crashed into the opposite wall, a hollow-sounding thud, and Ben and I unfolded from our position crouched on the ground, our hands covering our heads. There was a man standing on top of a car, shouting orders to the police officers, and he was clad in Red, White, and Blue, and Ben exhaled openly. I stared.

 

_Captain America._

 

Above us, the Iron Man rocketed past, followed by a convoy of flying aliens, and at this point I'm pulling Ben, and then he's pulling me. We pulled each other out of the way, taking alleys and avoiding the main streets and letting the superheroes be superheroes while we try to get to our child.

 

At the school, the teachers rushed us in and we sat in the classroom hugging Peter while we hid under the tiny desks. He watched with wide eyes as the big, ominous portal closed and the monsters all fell to the ground.

 

That weekend we attended a march in the middle of Manhattan. Peter was on Ben's shoulder and we all cheered and waved flags. Peter's Iron Man Mask he'd gotten years ago was too small, but we couldn't afford anything else, and Ben cut off the edges so it was just a face plate.

 

I held Peter's hand tightly, helping him balance so he could wave his flag as furiously as he wanted, while Ben held his legs.

 

I didn't see the appeal before, but now I do. There are good guys and bad guys. And today, the good guys had won. We were alive.

 

~~

 

"Tony Stark, doesn't even _have_ powers, in fact a lot of them don't," Peter said at the dinner table, in between bites.

 

I was staring at him, barely even registering what he said, to be honest.  I was thinking about how we were going to afford the tuition for Midtown Tech. About the curly mop on top of that kids head that needed to be cut. About the fact that his shoes had holes in them and that his backpack strap was held together with duct tape.

 

"He _literally builds_ everything, that's all he is, an engineer, and a scientist," He said excitedly, pointing his fork at Uncle Ben.

 

"So you're gonna build a suit of armor just like him?" Ben asked, laughing.

 

"No," Peter said defensively. "But I'll build _something_. Something cool. I dunno. He does all this cool stuff, like using the arc reactor to create a renewable energy source." He poked at his meatloaf.

 

"Well, keep studying, maybe some day you'll work for him, up in that big fancy tower," Ben replied, sipping on his orange juice and I had to roll my eyes as my husband wiggled them at me.

 

Peter grinned widely. "That's the dream."

 

Soon he would go to high school, and then college, and then he'd move out, and I wasn't sure I was ready for that yet. "When did you grow up?" I asked him, shaking my head as I grabbed the plates from the table.

 

"Yesterday, weren't you paying attention?" Ben asked, as Peter snorted. "Getting a bit spacey-"

 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah,  I leave my glasses in the freezer _once_ and I'm never gonna hear the end of it-"

 

"At least I can proudly say I have _never_ left my glasses in the freezer.-" Peter remarked, pushing the rims up his nose.

 

I never wanted to get older, but I am, and it's weirdly okay, this night. I was happy, Ben was happy, and Peter, despite being picked on, and being a strange little guy, was happy, with us. I didn't know how we managed it, but we did. I hold on to this moment.

 

I wanted it to last forever.

 

~~

 

I almost tried to convince him to stay.

 

"I'll just be a few minutes," Ben told me, as I held his wrist. Part of me didn't want him to go, really didn't, because I had a feeling. I don't know what it was, just a feeling.

 

But Peter wasn't home and the idea that something had happened to him outweighed the risk my gut was trying to fabricate.

 

So I didn't say anything. I nodded. I let go.

 

He kissed my cheek. I pressed my hand to it as he walked down the stairs, and I stayed for quite a while after he had disappeared, leaning against the door jam.

 

~~

 

I held Peter's shoulders tightly, and for once, he was holding on tighter, head buried in my neck.

 

I felt lost. More lost than I had ever felt.

 

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where to go.

 

For now, here was good. Wrapped around my nephew and him wrapped around me. We stayed like that a long time.

 

The house felt empty.

 

The coffee felt cold despite the heat. The grounds were sludge despite being fine.

 

We both shut down. We didn't talk for a while, for days, but we hovered around each other, unable figure each other out, with this new dynamic.

 

But I'm a talker. A doer. I don’t do well sitting around.

 

So I cleaned, I made dinner, I drove him to school, and I asked questions. And I tried my damnedest to fill the space that Ben left. And it was a _huge_ space. But somehow, I felt like I was managing it for a while. But Peter was still distant, he was sneaking out, and he wouldn't come home for hours after school some times.

 

I started to think that maybe, maybe, I couldn't do this without Ben.

 

Maybe I wouldn't make it.

 

~~

 

Peter turned to me one night and said, "May."

 

I turned back to him, and put on my best smile. "What's up, tough guy?"

 

And that boy looked at me, so seriously. He wasn't crying, but I could see the redness starting up around his eyes.

 

"It's my fault."

 

I had my arms wrapped around him in an instant, pulling him close and whispering into his ear. "No…it is _not_ your fault…"

 

"You don't understand-"

 

"Peter, listen to me-" And I held him at arm's length. "You didn't do anything. You didn't make the choice to end someone else's life. That man did. It is nobody's fault but his, do you understand?"

 

Peter glanced down and away from me, rubbing his wet nose with his sleeve. "But if I had just-"

 

"There's nothing you could have done," I said forcefully. "Look at me: There's nothing you could have done."

 

But Peter just hung his head, and for the first time in a while, I thought about Mary and Richard, and how they had left him so young. I realized that perhaps leaving him like that had  in fact been kind. He never missed them. He never remembered them. He never _knew_ them.

 

"Sometimes, the world works in strange ways," I heard myself say, Ben's voice in my ears. "We don't have power over life and death. We just…do what we can, with what he have. And if we can, we do something worthwhile."

 

Peter's head tilted up and he looked at me, a funny expression on his face. Conflicted, but also something akin to those earlier days, before all this, when he would stare off in to space and Ben would elbow me and say, " _Look, he's working on that Nobel prize he's gonna win_."

 

_God, Ben, I miss you…_

 

Peter's expression slowly turned into a smile. It was small, but it was empowered, and he was looking at me, with…with…something like a new light etched on his face.

 

_I love you…_

 

My hands held on to his shoulders still, tightening when he said, "Thanks, May…I…know what to do now."

 

_Goodbye, my love. Time to let go._

 

_I think I can do this._

 

_I have to do this._

 

_For his sake._

 

~~

 

_I didn't know what to say_ when a billionaire showed up on my doorstep and asked to speak with Peter.

 

I smiled, I sat with him on the couch, and he flirted with me shamelessly, which was both flattering, and completely appalling considering, well-…but he had my attention at _September Grant._

 

I would never have been able to afford to send Peter off to college, and-…I _knew_ not doing so was not an option. Peter was too smart, too gifted, not to go wherever he wanted. And here Tony Stark was offering it up on a silver platter.

 

There was an internship, and a retreat in Germany, and looking at Peter's wide eyes and his excitement, that…deer-in-headlights look on his face and _how_ could I say no?

 

~~

 

_I wish you were here_ , I thought, when I held Peter close to my hip, rubbing his back and telling him it was going to be okay.

 

But the thought was fleeting, and I was slowly learning to move on. The panic in my chest was subsiding, the death-like grip on my heart going away and flashbacks to the night of the expo, the day that aliens rained down from the sky, and the night that Ben died…

 

"I'm sorry I made you worry…"

 

He was all I had left.

 

It was a thought I had before, but this moment cemented it in my mind. Peter was…all I had.

 

~~

 

_I can do this_ , I said to myself, and it was true, as I watched Peter's fumbling hands try to tie his tie and it was crooked, but I told him it was good anyways, because how the hell would I know how to tie a windsor? But he had asked me. He came to me, after all the weeks of lying, and subterfuge, and this, yes, _this_ I could do.

 

I was a queen in my day, and you know, I still was.

 

I could dance, and we danced. We laughed for _real_ for the first time in a while.

 

I could shed the drama, I could be the cool Aunt, as well as the Mom, and that was my super power, if I could boast one.

 

Let's review:

 

_Be nice._

 

_Hold the door open for her._

 

_Don't be creepy._

 

_Hands on the hips._

 

He told me "thank you" on his way out of the car door, and you know, I could tell he meant it. He was all nervous energy and I remembered being the girl waiting on my front step as my date came up the drive, feeling the same way. I was still angry, and scared, from the night he had failed to come home, but it had been replaced by pride in that moment.

 

_You should see him, Ben._ My hands were tight on the steering wheel. I was nervous for him. But I knew, in the end, he'd be alright. He'd make the right choices, say the right things, because he was a good kid.

 

And we had done that.

 

And now I.


	2. Now

I have been holding on to that boy his entire life.

 

And I am not about to stop now.

 

I hold on to it with an indignant, rebellious fury that rages against reason and flouts all argument. I am a roaring freaking lion and I will not be argued with.

 

I have been through a lot and seen impossible things, but _never, never_ , was I prepared for _this._

 

It digs in to me. That possessive need to hold on.

 

_Every night. For God Knows How long._

 

I yell.

 

I yell more than I ever have.

 

Not because I'm mad. I'm _hurt_ , yes, I am.

 

But more than anything, I'm afraid.

 

There has been too much death. There have been too many doors that were opened, with a fleeting wave, a casual goodbye-kiss, too many moments that were never thought of as parting ways, only to have those moments keep you up at night, after night, thinking about how that was the last time you would ever see them.

 

I loved Richard and Mary.

 

I loved Ben.

 

I love Peter.

 

He is all I have.

 

He wasn't supposed to belong to me, but he does now. And I will not lose him.

 

Not for the greater good. Not for Tony Stark.

 

_And certainly not for Spider-Man._

 

~~

 

I leave a nasty message for Mr. Stark.

 

Very nasty. I definitely use language that would have both Peter and Ben cringing, if either were here.

 

But Ben is gone, and Peter might as well be.

 

He's a ghost of himself.

 

He comes home, he does his schoolwork, he sits in his room. Our conversations are friendly, but awkward, and they don't have any substance to them anymore. I feel more like an overseer and less like an Aunt, or a mom, than I ever have.

 

I'm being creepy and overbearing.

 

I drive him to school. I pick him up.

 

The suit is stuffed in a bag, and then in another bag, and hidden in a compartment in the ceiling in my closet. I should throw it away, I tell myself, but I hold on to it. For the life of me, I don't know why.

 

I try to get him to talk to me, but he's either too angry, or too depressed to say anything.

 

It will pass, I tell myself. He will get back into the swing of normal life.

 

But who am I kidding?

 

He's a kid…with _super powers_ …and that in itself is a dizzying thought that I still can't quite summit.

 

He will never be normal again. His life has permanently changed.

 

For as close as I'm keeping him, I feel the furthest I've ever been.

 

~~

 

I spend the entire morning, and most of the evening psyching myself up for it.

 

I play mello music. I watch _The Wizard of Oz_ and sync it up with _Darkside of the Moon_. I make tea. I make hot chocolate. I attempt to cook, and burn, a quiche.

 

I sit on top of the apartment and smoke a cigarette for the first time in _years_.

 

I talk to Ben.

 

For dinner, I make five different dishes and shove them at Peter, who eyes me like I'm nuts, but puts a little bit of everything on his plate. I ask him about his day, and he gives me bland replies in return. Distracted. Un-energized.

 

He goes to bed early.

 

I wait until I know he's asleep, glancing in his room (partially to make sure he hasn't snuck out, if we're being honest), before I sit on the couch, grabbing Peter's laptop off of the kitchen table and opening it up. I pull the chord with me as I walk over to the couch.

 

I spend a while just…sitting, doing nothing, staring at the open web browser.

 

I have to do this. I type 'Spider-Man' in to the search engine.

 

I click the first video I see.

 

~~

 

It's Saturday, and I have not slept.

 

_I may be crazy,_ I think, as I open the door to Peter's room. _But I have to know for myself._

 

I shake his shoulder lightly, and Peter groans, turning over in his bed and mumbling something.

 

"Hey, tough guy, wake up-" I say, and it hits me that what I use as an endearing nickname is in fact more true than I ever knew.

 

_I don't know him like I thought I did,_ I think to myself, and it _hurts_. Neither of us did, Ben.

 

There is an entire life that he lived that I didn't know about. There is a part of him that I am completely unfamiliar with. To protect me, apparently, but it doesn't work like that. We aren't at that point yet.

 

I am not fragile. I do not break easily.

 

Peter is my responsibility.

 

He blinks up at me with weary eyes, and then glances at the clock. It is roughly 5 am, the sun isn't even up yet, and Peter looks at me like the world is upside down. "Wha-?"

 

"Put on some clothes. And a hoodie," I say, and my brain thinks, _you are_ crazy.

 

"May, it's five in the morning-"

 

"Just-…do it, please." I say, and walk out of the room before he can argue with me.

 

~~

 

It's 5:20 A.M. when I stop the car and we get out. Peter is hugging himself, dressed in sweats and a plain sweatshirt. He had initially gone with his high school's sweatshirt, but I made him switch.

 

Because what I'm about to do, well, to ask him to do, is… _Why?_

 

_Why?_ My brain screams, as our shoes crunch across the gravel, and Peter gives me a stranger and stranger look as we step over the old, cracked, wooden trusses.

 

_Because I need to know. I need to know._  I think, and this is the type of thing I used to do as a kid. Me, my friends, we'd all grab our bikes and we'd ride down to places like this and get lost for hours, nobody looking for us, and nobody really caring, because that's the kind of times we were in…

 

"Um," Peter finally says, and I stop, looking out over the old abandoned train yard, wreckage strewn across the gravel and tracks. I turn to him.   
  
"...Show me," I say, and Peter furrows his brow at me.

 

"What?"

 

I look out over the landscape. "What you can do," I say, looking back at him. "Show me."

 

"But I thought you said-"

 

"I know what I said! I just-" I close my mouth, willing myself to calm down. Peter is staring at me, giving me the biggest kicked puppy look I have seen in a long time, maybe since back when he was a little kid. "…humor me, please?"

 

_The first video that had popped up was the video of the ferry accident. I watched Spider-Man, Peter, dodge blast after blast of this purple gun that had sliced the entire boat in two. I watched the video of some brave, or very idiotic, passenger as the ferry itself was sinking, and Spider-Man (Peter) jumping from post to post, desperately attempting to suture the metal back together._

 

"Please," I say, calming myself. Peter looks like he's thinking the same thing as I: _lost it. Completely lost it._ But…he glances around, eyeing a concrete pillar not to far from us, holding up a portion of the freeway we are under. He reaches down and takes off his shoes.

 

_I watch a video of the Avengers plane crashing into the beach. I watch maybe a dozen views of Spider-Man crawling up the Washington monument. I absorb countless bank robberies, videos of the famous webslinger stopping cars and leaked security footage of the bank across the street from the bodega._

 

Peter walks up to the wall and glances back at me, before pulling his hoodie sharp over his face, cutting the view from anybody who might see whatever is going on down here. I pull the hood of my parka over my head.   
  
_I watch the footage of the airport battle in Berlin, tears streaking down my face, thinking about how I had been so excited for Peter to go…waving him off with Tony Stark, standing in the door, and never realizing that he might have never come back. I watch him cut out the legs of the same man who had saved Ben and I when Peter was nine, the day the aliens dropped from the sky. I watch my nephew, my kid, go toe-to-toe with the Avengers, or half of them…_

 

_…and win._

 

Peter steps onto the concrete pillar. I'm not ready for the breath that escapes me when he just…sticks. He presses his fingers to the side and his toes and he just _goes_ , like it's the most natural thing on the planet, up and up and up and up…

 

He's two stories above me, looking down, and I can't see his expression, before he jumps, _jumps,_ off the wall, pulling his head back and curling into a backflip before he lands, and his knees take the impact like it is nothing. I jump, I wince, I gasp, as he lands in front of me, and _there_. That is where I see it.

 

He looks nervous.

 

He's afraid I will be freaked out.

 

No.

 

_He's afraid I will not accept him_. This isn't about Spider-Man, not this moment. This is about him being _different._ My chest is constricting in on itself. I am afraid. I am overwhelmed, and I am upset. I am upset he could ever think such a thing.

 

Somehow, somewhere, I gave him reason to believe that I might not… _love_ him anymore, because of this.

 

I am scared, but I have to admit that it is… _amazing._ What he can do. It is…extraordinary. But I don't know _how_ to say it.

 

So I say, "Show me more."

 

And he does. He shows me everything. He shows me how high he can jump, how fast he can run, how _strong he is_ , and I gape at him when he lifts up the end of one of the _train cars_ laying on its side in the gravel. A _train car._ The only thing I don't see is the webs, because, he explains, those aren't a part of him. He makes them himself ( _he makes them himself?!?)_.

 

We sit on the hood of the car for a long time, he and I, in silence. I am biting my nails, to be honest, and I haven't done that in a long time…

 

"… _How?"_ I finally ask, glancing towards Peter, who shrugs. He knows that I know. He already told me, that night, but I wasn't listening then. Not _really._ I place my hand on his knee.

 

"Hey-…" I say, looking at him. "…No more secrets, please."

 

So he talks.

 

And I listen, my hand steady and firm and unyielding, grounding him, I hope...

 

The way it used to be.

 

~~

 

"…It's my fault," He says again to me, one night, a few days after our trip to the train yard.

 

This time, I don't immediately tell him it isn't.

 

Instead, I ask why.

 

"I had my powers, the night Ben was shot-" Peter says carefully, and I can see that redness brimming against his eyes again. "…I saw the guy who did it, before. He was robbing this store-…I…I…" He bites his lip, burying his head in his hands. "I could have stopped him-I didn't. If I had stopped him-"

 

He cuts off, and though there's no sobbing, no evidence of tears, I know-…

 

… _I get it now._

 

It all clicks, in an instant. Everything. What he did, why he did it…and why he hadn't said anything.

 

_This was all for you._

 

I wrap my arms around Peter, my lips pressed to his ear and I shush him, rocking back and forth with him on the couch, and I tell him, no, no, no…it isn't your fault, while tears slip down my face. My heart is broken, and it is in this moment that ironically, I need Ben the most. I need him to tell Peter to his face that is isn't his fault, that Ben doesn't blame him…because me saying it isn't enough.

 

It will never be enough.

 

And there's nothing I can do about it. Except hold on tight.

 

~~

 

I decide we need to go out, together, as a family, the way we used to.

 

Course, it's just him and I now. But it doesn't mean we can't still do it.

 

Lunch. Burgers and Fries. Ice cream, even though it is _freezing_. We stuff our faces and huddle together on the street in front of one of the small parks, laughing over the fact that ice cream was the stupidest decision we made that day, but it's so good we can't really care. I nurse a brain freeze while Peter seems immune to it, and I think to myself, that that must be one of the perks of his powers.

 

Powers.

 

It's still so strange to get used to, listening to that word in my head. Testing it out, curling my thoughts around it. Peter is not normal, but he is still Peter.

 

But he isn't. His laughter is hollow, his smiles don't quite reach his eyes, and whenever he thinks I'm not looking, he's staring out at the city. He's staring _up_ , and he thinks he's being so clever with it, but I can see it.

 

A mother always knows.

 

I don't know what to do, as we walk back from the park, hands stuffed in our pockets and our noses slowly freezing from the cold air. I don't know how to _deal_ with something like this…

 

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't notice Peter has stopped, or that half the people on the street have stopped as well, not until I hear it.

 

A sudden, loud, _chop-chop-chop-chop_ noise, a downward spiral of whining coming from above and I finally look up as a shadow cuts across me, gasping as I see it- A helicopter, what looks like a weather helicopter, falling through the sky. It spins erratically, nose-diving and the people in the street begin to run frantically, screams filling the street. I start to pull back, turning towards Peter, who isn't running from the danger. He's staring, just staring…hoping-…

 

The helicopter doesn't hit the street, but instead, careens into the side of a building. I hear the horrendous sound of the rotor blades sawing into the side, snapping or snagging onto the steel as the cabin lodges itself between the two floors. Glass and debris rain down from the building, and Peter tenses, we both do, as it rains down on the civilians.

 

Panicked bystanders are starting to calm down, after getting a safe distance away, and now people are on their phones, capturing the incident on video. We just stand, staring, and my feet are frozen, unable to move. That's when Peter jumps, and I jump next to him in reaction. But then I hear it. A scream, coming from inside the cockpit.

 

_Oh My God…_

 

At least one of the passengers is alive…the reporter, or the pilot…

 

The copter creaks against the steel. It's maybe, what, ten stories up, and you can hear metal and rebar snapping from down here. The helicopter must be snagged on something. Half of it is hanging out of the building, and there's really no other explanation for it having not come down yet. It's a miracle that it hasn't exploded by now…at least, I _think._ I don't know anything about those kinds of things.

 

Peter launches forward, and by some Grace of God, I manage to snag his jacket by the hood, pulling him back.

 

_"What are you doing?!?"_ I shout.

 

Peter looks back at me desperately. "May, there's a _person_ in there!!!" He presses his lips into a thin line, eyes wide with panic. "Let go!"

 

" _Are you insane? No!"_

 

"I can do this!" Peter argues, and for some wild reason, it occurs to me that he could rip out of my grip if he really wanted to. But he's staying here. He's asking me.

 

"You _could die,_ " I say, then add, just for logic sake, "You don't even have those web things."

 

In reply, he gives me a guilty look, then quickly rolls up his sleeves, revealing the smooth, black bands wrapped around his wrists.

 

"You-" I am stuttering, panic is taking over me, as well as anger, but it is cut off by another scream from above, as well as the gasps of the people around us, and Peter's nervous dance on the concrete.

 

"I _know,_ I'm _sorry, but May-"_ He glances back up at the wreck, then back to me. "I'm the _only one_ who can reach her."

 

"What were you _planning to do_ with those?!?" I ask shrilly, "Were you going to start… _doing this again, behind my back?"_

 

Peter doesn't respond for a moment, hanging his head, before shrugging. "If…someone was in trouble-"

 

"Someone is _always_ in trouble!" I yell back.

 

"And I can _save_ them!" Peter shouts. "I _can_! You told me we don't control who lives or dies. But I _can_. I could that night when Uncle Ben died, and I can now!"

 

"That's! That's, No, Peter, no-" I thread my hand through my hair desperately. "Peter, you can't expect that-"

 

"With great power, comes great responsibility." Peter says simply. And I stop, my grip loosening on his hood, but not letting go.

 

The building snaps and quakes above us.

 

"Uncle Ben said that," Peter continues.

 

"I know." I say hollowly.

 

"May." Peter walks forward, putting his hands on my shoulders. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…I screwed up, but -…" He glances up. "I have these powers, and I can do things nobody else can do. She's someone's _daughter. Or Niece. Or mother._ What kind of person would I be…if I _could_ save her, but _I didn't even try?"_

 

I'm staring up at the building, tears in my eyes.

 

"I used to think it was about the powers, about being…extraordinary, I dunno, about being an _Avenger maybe,_ but it's not- It's-" Peter's grip tightens on my arms, bringing me back to him. Slowly, my hands leave his hood, and they come up to mirror his position, gripping his elbows tightly.

 

"You're not gonna stop, are you?" I ask. "You'll end up doing this…no matter what…"

 

Peter nods slowly, his eyes dropping to the ground. "I have to." 

 

I have seen so much of Peter.

 

I have seen him laugh, the purest joy of an infant smiling, laughing. I have changed his diapers, and fed him by hand. I have held his tiny hands while he stumbled across the floor and I have stuttered through his first words with him.   
  
I have held him while he cries, I have taken him on long drives to get him to fall asleep. I have made pillow forts with him after he had nightmares, and I've sat with him in the ER, holding his hand while a doctor listens to his chest and prescribes something stronger than just his inhaler.

 

I have clung to him as he holds my leg the first day of kindergarten. I have picked him up every day when he wrapped his arms around me. I have sat with Ben and read him stories. I have sat up on the apartment roof and listened while my husband shows him everything he knows about the stars.

 

I have seen him learn to read, learn to learn, learn to make friends, learn the hard way that sometimes the people you think are friends…aren't your friends at all. I have seen him slowly figure out how the world works, and I have seen him frown when he finds out it can be disappointing. I have seen him smile when he finds out it can be just as rewarding.

 

I have seen him cope with loss. I have seen him pull himself back up. I have seen him try and fail and try again…

 

…and ultimately, win.

 

I have seen him do amazing things.

 

Amazing, normal, life things. Some with me, some on his own.

 

And extraordinary things. All on his own.

 

And win.

 

_{ "Gonna go far in life, s'long as we find a way to let him grow." }_

 

"…Go…"

 

Peter's eyes widen slowly. My hands are still a vice on his elbows, holding him close, but I know… _I know_. I have to do this. I have to…let things happen. I have to let go a little.

 

I have to.

 

_I have to._

 

"Go, go-" I let go, I push him a little, glancing up at the building. "Go!"

 

He doesn't say anything to me, he's already running, but the look he gives me before he goes, is enough.

 

~~

 

Peter is amazing.

 

I am biased, of course, but I really mean it, as I watched this _kid_ , this _fifteen-year-old_ kid race through the crowd, hood pulled tight over his head, clothes obscuring his face, shoot a web onto the building and launch himself into the sky.

 

The crowd erupts into 'woop's and hollers, several exclamations of "Spider-Man!", followed by comments on the lack of his suit.

 

I stand alone on the ground, hands clasped tightly against my chest, as I watch my boy climb up the side of the building, towards the screams, and begin to tether the helicopter against the side of the building with webs that he made himself _in a high school chemistry lab._

 

Peter is swift and moves with a purpose, and it's the first time I'm watching Spider-Man with my own eyes, and knowing that it's _Peter._

 

The fact that he's wearing his own clothes sort of helps, too…

 

He crawls onto the outside of the helicopter and I can just make out him breaking the windshield with his bare hands, before disappearing inside the cockpit. For several tense seconds there is nothing.

 

Then the last pieces of metal keeping the helicopter up give way, and the entire vessel drops, scraping hideously against the side of the building, and my heart stops as the webs tethering the metal to the side catch and it crashes against the building once again, now hanging nose-down only by those thin strands of webbing.

 

It holds.

 

_Oh My God,_ I think, and a swell of pride awakens inside me to think that _he made something like that, look at that, it's holding up that whole helicopter._

 

But the other half of me is wondering where Peter is.

 

I don't see anything. No movement, nothing, from within, for a couple of moments. The crowd is eerily quiet. We are all waiting with bated breath.

 

The helicopter sinks, and I hear a twangy, snapping sound. The web breaking. There are only two or three thin strands holding it up…

 

My chest constricts.

 

More snapping…

 

The cabin sinks lower…

 

I hear something, a cry, from within, then suddenly Peter crawls out of the windshield, clinging on to the nose of the helicopter with one hand as another holds a person, I can't make out any of their features. The crowd begins to cheer…

 

…and that's when the webs break.

 

I scream, as do many others, as the helicopter begins to plummet to the Earth, taking Peter and the girl with it. My hands fly to my face, time slows down…

 

But Peter presses his feet against the cabin and pushes off, soaring sideways into a freefall, before reaching out and firing a webline seconds before he and the girl reach the ground.

 

A sickening crash shakes the street just as Peter's fall turns into a graceful arc, towing the girl with him as he comes to the ground running, dropping her off on shaky legs. The crowd instantly surrounds her, police officers and first responders who had just made it to the scene grabbing her before she collapses on the ground from the shock.

 

Peter jumps back in to the air just as quickly as he had landed, soaring over my head and swinging into an alleyway, away from the sudden cheers that have erupted amongst the crowd.

 

And I'm jumping, jumping, up and down, cheering with them.

 

~~

 

I find Peter two blocks away from where we were originally standing, walking up to me with bare feet and his jacket balled up and turned inside out so it looks a different color. I throw my arms around him before he can get in a word.

 

"Oh My God, you were incredible," I hear myself say, tears streaming down my face. "You saved her, you saved her…"

 

I pull away, and man, he's crying too, and look at us, huh? Ben would be laughing, teasing us relentlessly. I hold Peter at arm's length, biting my lip.

 

"She's alive because of you."

 

Peter's grip is tight against my frame, and we stay there for a long time, just holding on to one another.   
 

~~

 

We get take-out for dinner, and we eat it on the roof, bringing lawn chairs and the brown bags of food with us, setting them between our legs and picking out each box and devouring it, one by one.

 

Now that I know, Peter isn't shy about his appetite, which I learn is nearly insatiable, and I feel bad for having not known about the fact that he has sort of been starving himself in order to avoid suspicion. He goes through three boxes of entrees in no time at all. I watch with a sort of weird fascination.

 

When we're done, we lapse in to silence, because what happened today _changed things_ , and I don't think he knows how to address it. He glances off to the side, looking at the New York skyline in the far, far distance, really just an orange glow with no discernable features. He looks forlorn.

 

"Hey," I say, nudging his foot with my own, and he glances back towards me, putting on a fake smile.

 

"Tough guy-" I start, and Peter snickers slightly, ducking his head and ruffling his own hair with his hand. "-…listen. I have something for you."

 

I pick up the brown bag and I shove it towards him with my foot. Peter wrinkles his nose.

 

"For once in my life, May, I think I'm full-" He says, patting his stomach.

 

"Just open it," I press, and I place the kindest smile I can on my lips.

 

Peter blinks at me, furrowing his brow, before dipping down and picking up the bag. He hesitates, before unrolling the paper and glancing inside. His eyes immediately snap up to meet mine. "…I don't get it."

 

I don't quite get it, either, but somehow, I know it's the right choice.

 

"You were meant for great things, kiddo…" I say softly, as Peter reaches in and pulls out the contents of the bag. The red and blue fabric drapes over his knees, and he picks up the mask, holding it in the palms of his hands as the eye lenses stare back at him. "…we always thought that meant you'd be some genius scientist."

 

Peter looks back up at me, and I can see the way he clenches his teeth underneath his lips, and it takes everything in me not reach out and stop him from grinding his teeth and ruin the moment.

 

"…I still want to be a scientist…" He says very quietly.

 

"Well, good-" I say, trying to keep this lighthearted. "Because don't think this means you get to quit school, mister."

 

Peter shakes his head almost immediately. "No, yeah, definitely."

 

I point at him with my index finger. "And you will keep your grades _up_."

 

He nods and it looks like his head is going to snap off and roll across the roof. "Of course."

 

"And you will _call me every night."_ I add. " _Every. Night._ Before you start, you know-doing the superhero thing, and the second you start heading home."

 

"Yes," Peter agrees instantly, and I swear to God, he'd probably agree to wear a bell around his neck if I asked.

 

"Alright," I finally say, leaning back and taking in a shaky breath. "…Alright."

 

"May…" Peter says softly, and I glanced up, trying not to let the tears spill over. "…Thank you."

 

I nod, before waving at him. "Well, go, you know, put it on. I know you're dying to go-"

 

Peter hesitates. "…Are you sure?"

 

" _Yes, go."_ I say, shooing him off. Peter runs off the roof, toting the Spider-Man suit with him. I wait until I hear the quiet click of the door behind him.

 

Then I bury my head in my hands, and let the tears spill over.

 

I know this is the right choice. 

 

I do, in my heart.

 

But it doesn't make it any less difficult. It doesn't mean I won't stay up at night, waiting for him to come home, tea on the stove and a first aid kit at the ready. It doesn't mean I won't occasionally have a break down in the shower. It doesn't mean I won't panic every time he doesn't answer his cell phone.

 

But that is my burden to carry. That is my _job_ , to worry.

 

That is every mother's job.

 

I wipe my eyes on my shirt just as I hear the door open, and when I turn around, Peter is standing there in the suit, his mask held in his hands. It's the first time I have seen him in it since that one Monday afternoon when I had found out. My stomach lurches terribly, but I smile regardless.

 

Peter looks conflicted. I know he can see that I have been crying, and I know he feels guilty, but let's face it: we both know it was inevitable. He could either do this without my knowledge and approval, or he could have it, and know that there is someone out there who will be there for him. Even if it terrifies me. It doesn't make me right.

 

He was meant to do this.

 

I walk forward and place my hands on either side of his head, and I kiss his forehead gently. He wraps his arms around me, and I return it. When he backs away, he pulls the mask over his face, and the eye lenses flicker slightly.

 

I watch as he turns away, pausing a moment to take a deep breath, before running towards the edge and leaping off the building.

 

I can't stop it.

 

He was never supposed to be mine, but he is. _He is_. And I can't lose him now, I won't. And to stop him, would be to lose him.

 

So I will do what I have to.

 

Even if it means letting go.

 

 


End file.
